Angelique Whitherspoon

What does a homeless woman and a young business executive have in common? When Leslie dared to smile at a person on the streets, she never suspected such a small action could make such a huge difference.

﻿By: Regina Stokes Russell This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and actions are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to anyone living or dead, businesses, events or location is entirely coincidental. The first time I saw Angelique Whitherspoon, I was stepping off of the East train at 44th and Lincoln streets. My mind registered her presence only because our eyes happened to meet so I smiled. She ducked her head quickly and her hat drew my attention away from her face. She was obviously homeless, the trademark plastic bag flung over her shoulder. She was wearing a non-descript trench coat that reached almost to her ankles and a ridiculous straw hat that had several plastic flowers sticking out of it at odd angles, with one large white magnolia centered squarely in the middle over her forehead. I was late for an appointment with the regional manager from our downtown office and I clutched my brown leather briefcase in my left hand as I fumbled for his number on my cell phone with my right thumb. I should have put him on speed dial, I thought. Finally, all the right numbers had been pressed on my cell and I saw with relief the message on the tiny screen that said, “…Calling Ryan Macon.” I put the phone to my ear and immediately heard a beep. I was getting a call. I looked at the screen again and saw it was Ryan calling me. I knew he was probably wondering where I was. “Hello, Ryan,” I answered. “Leslie,” he responded quickly. “I was hoping to catch you before you made it all the way out here.” I looked at my watch. It was ten after. I should have been there ten minutes ago, I thought. What did he mean? “Dean Chadwick called and is on his way up," Ryan told me enthusiastically. "He asked if I had time to see him.” “Oh?” I was a little unsettled momentarily and stopped walking. I felt as though I had been through an obstacle course all morning at my office just to get to this meeting with Ryan and without preamble he was putting everything on hold. I understood why he was calling me though. He had been trying to get Dean Chadwick on board with our investment company for years and had never gotten a nibble. If Chadwick was even making discreet inquiries, I should have heard something. "Are you telling me Chadwick is shopping?" "Definitely." “I understand,” I replied. “Do you want me to wait around over here? I just got off at East and Lincoln.” “Yes, go out to lunch without me. Use the expense account and I’ll call you as soon as our meeting is over. If it doesn’t last too long, maybe I will still be able join you.” “Okay, Ryan. I’ll find somewhere close by to have lunch. Maybe Jenkin's Eatery—I haven’t been there in a while.” We discussed a few other things having to do with the downtown office before our conversation ended. I stood there for a moment realizing that I was in a different state than most of the people hurrying by all around me. I had gone from being another quick-stepping, scurrying business person to suddenly being a young woman with some free time on my schedule. I was glad. It would be good to slow down for a little while. I began to walk again at a much slower pace and as I emerged out of the subway tunnel, gray clouds greeted me. It would rain soon, I thought and then I remembered my umbrella was back at the office. I had been in too much of a hurry. Okay, I just wouldn’t walk far. I headed towards Jenkin’s Eatery. That would be a good place to settle down for an hour or so. I regretted that I didn’t have a good book with me. If I was alone I enjoyed reading while having my lunch. Then I saw her again—the homeless woman. She was waddling slowly with her plastic bag over her shoulder. Just then, she stopped and let the bag fall to the ground in front of her. I found myself interested. What did she have in there? I wondered. She reached into the bag and drew out a small, old umbrella that had a missing handle. Suddenly, she looked up and our eyes met for the second time. She smiled. I had almost caught up with her and I smiled in return and said, “Hello." Her brown eyes scoured me from head to toe seeming to sum me up in that moment. I must have been a head taller than her. I could see that her straight gray hair was shoulder length coming from beneath her enormous straw hat. When she smiled back at me I was reminded of the smile of a child. Her face seemed to hide nothing in its openness and was banked with serenity. She looked clean—even well-scrubbed, I thought. “Lady,” I heard a voice say as I walked past her. She’s going to ask me for money, I thought. I considered continuing to walk on as though I hadn’t heard her but something in her voice—some capricious inflection in her tone, caused me to turn around. “Yes?” I was only a few feet in front of her and I could see deep into her smiling brown eyes. Who did she remind me of? Then, I knew. She reminded me of my Aunt Deidra. Aunt Deidra’s eyes crinkled just like this lady’s eyes when she smiled. “Pardon me,” the woman began, “but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation a moment ago and I thought I should tell you that Jenkin’s Eatery is no longer in business.” “Really?” I responded. I was a little surprised—not that Jenkin’s Eatery was closed but that this little woman with her plastic bag was speaking so coherently to me. I had expected a shy mumbling request for money from her, not polite words of help delivered in the conversational manner of a well-to-do bystander. “Yes, Jenkin’s closed almost a year ago, I believe,” she added. “The owner was a friend of mine. He went to live with his brother in Philadelphia after finding out he only had a few months left to live. He had cancer and it had already gone into his liver,” she stated sympathetically. “Oh—well, I’m sorry to hear that,” I answered. “Thanks very much.” I started to turn away when she spoke again. “But there’s a nice place just about a half a block away that has cozy booths and a quiet atmosphere. It’s called, Branson’s and the food there is delicious. In fact, I’m heading there myself and you would be welcome to join me if you like,” she added kindly. I laughed despite myself. How touching that this little homeless woman would invite me to join her for lunch. Of course, I could never take her invitation seriously, but it was sweet nonetheless. “That’s so kind of you,” I responded, but I’m not sure where I’m going to go right now.” Her knowing eyes searched my face and she nodded. “I do appreciate you letting me know about the Jenkin’s place, though,” I replied as I turned. “You’re very welcome,” she said to my retreating back. I was already walking away—a little faster than before—anxious to put some space between myself and the woman who unsettled me a bit with her homeless garb, yet gracious manners. I kept up my quick pace and after a moment spotted the sign that said, Branson’s. If that lady had not told me about it and invited me to have lunch with her, it looked like the kind of place I might duck into while waiting for Ryan. There were tiny baskets with pink roses in the windows and charming French doors with ornate designs that looked inviting. However, I walked past the diner knowing there would be other places nearby to eat—places where I wouldn’t be expected to share a meal with a homeless person who was wearing an unsightly straw hat. A few moments later, there was a sharp crack of thunder and it began to rain. It was the kind of rain that came suddenly and shot down upon the world below with stinging reports, almost like wet bullets from the sky. I turned around quickly and hurried back towards Branson’s Diner. It was no time to be picky, I thought grimly. The rain pelted me unmercifully as I ran. I berated myself for not going in the restaurant moments earlier and realized the only reason I had not was because I did not want to see the street person who had invited me to dine with her. Finally, I saw the place and was relieved to step into the dry, calm atmosphere of the restaurant. It seemed enveloped with a magical quality—candle-lit tables and soft piano music in the background adding to the ambiance. What a welcome contrast from the downpour I had just escaped! I took a deep breath and reached up and patted my hair. It didn’t seem to be too much out of place. A pretty, young girl with dark eyes and very short bleached, white hair approached me. “Would you like to be seated, Ma'am?” she asked. I nodded while dabbing at my face with a tissue I had pulled from my purse. “Yes, non-smoking, and then you can show me where the ladies’ room is, please?” “Of course, follow me,” she replied curtly. To my dismay I saw her approaching the homeless woman I had encountered earlier. Her bag was tucked almost out of sight beneath the booth where she was already seated and her straw hat was lying beside her. She was studying a menu lying on the table before her without picking it up, hands in her lap, head bent in concentration. The young hostess stopped at the booth facing the woman and laid down a menu and some silver ware wrapped in a napkin. I sat down and put my briefcase in the booth beside me. The seat felt firm but comfortable. The hostess was telling me how to get to the ladies’ room when I noticed the woman across from me lift her head. Once again our eyes met and she smiled. I nodded half-heartedly, a little embarrassed. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I passed by the lady again. Oh, why not, I asked myself as I considered the small form sitting at the booth across from me. “Is the invitation still open, Ma'am?” I asked pleasantly. The lady raised her eyes from her menu and brightened considerably. “I’d love for you to join me,” she replied cordially. I noticed that the hostess approaching us seemed a little surprised but recovered quickly. “Thank you.” I said as I settled into the seat across from her. “Certainly,” the older lady replied politely. The magic of the restaurant, the haven from the rain and the comfortable booth I had sunk into were things I felt a little grateful to the lady for. She nodded and smiled broadly at me reminding me again of my Aunt Deidra. The hostess promptly moved my menu and water glass from the other table and announced that our waitress would be with us shortly. I thanked her. “Hi, I’m Leslie,” I said as I scooted a little closer to the middle of the booth. “I'm glad I found you. It started to rain and I thought I should reconsider your suggestion.” “I’m glad you did, Leslie,” she answered with enthusiasm. “And my name is Angelique Whitherspoon.” “What a beautiful name,” I responded. “Yes, I thought so too,” she answered in a friendly manner. “Please call me Angelique.” The way she replied caused me to wonder if the name was just one she had chosen because of the way it sounded. Did it make her feel better about herself or her circumstances to have such a whimsical name? Well, whatever—it didn’t matter, I considered. We would probably never see each other again and she could be who she wanted. I’ll bet she’s got a story to tell, though. I just hoped Ryan wouldn’t be done too quickly with his meeting—come here and see me sitting with this woman. How could I explain dining with a homeless person I didn’t even know? “So, what do you recommend, Angelique?” I asked as I picked up the menu. I was surprised to see the prices were a little steep especially since my dining partner had recommended it. “I enjoy the salmon croquettes here,” Angelique replied brightly. “Today’s my birthday and I thought I would splurge a little,” she added. “Happy birthday,” I said with as much sincerity as I could. She laughed and raised her glass to me as if she were sitting across from an old friend who had invited her out to lunch. I felt a little ashamed of my meager attempt to reach out to her earlier. “There’s something about you that reminds me of my Aunt Deidra,” I told her a few moments later. We had ordered and I had settled back into the comfortable booth. We were sipping our tea and I had almost forgotten Angelique was the woman I had first seen at the subway carrying a plastic bag and wearing a large straw hat. Angelique laughed with delight. “Your Aunt Deidra? Why, thank you. I’m sure that must be a compliment.” “Actually, it is.” “Is your mother still alive, Leslie?” “Yes, very much so,” I answered happily. “Mom always said that she wanted to be one of those women who sat and played bridge in Florida when she retired, but since Dad died she’s been doing just the opposite.” I paused a minute while I picked up a piece of lemon and squeezed it into my tea. I was not used to telling strangers details about my personal life. Yet, Angelique didn’t seem to be prying at all—just showing polite interest. She must enjoy hearing about other people’s families since she doesn’t have one of her own, I thought. I looked back up at her. “She does weddings now—from making the wedding cake to full-blown catering.” Mom was too busy for my liking but instead of voicing what I really thought, I added: “I believe she’s the busiest woman I know. And it's like she doesn't even have time for her family anymore.” A small laugh tinged with bitterness escaped me. “Oh my…” “Yes, she’s pretty hard to track down,” I added. I was no longer smiling as I remembered the times I wanted to talk to Mom but found she was too busy with her work to have time for me. “You don’t look very happy about it,” Angelique said softly. “No, well…I mean….” I started. I didn’t want to give the wrong impression. My mom had been a great mother. "It’s just that…I wish she were a little more….accessible.” “Accessible,” Angelique repeated. “Yes,” I nodded. “I don’t get to see her very much anymore.” “So your mother has other ideas about being accessible.” I narrowed my eyes and leaned towards Angelique. “What do you mean?” Angelique regarded me as though weighing whether she should answer my question. “I’m sure she has her reasons for working right now—maybe reasons that would be hard for someone else to understand, even her own family.” “You mean you think there is the possibility that my mother doesn’t want to be accessible to me?” I asked. Angelique opened her mouth as though she were going to say something but the waitress came over to refill our tea glasses. Ice cubes clinked in her large pitcher as we watched her expertly pour the light, rusty-colored liquid. We thanked her and then turned to face one another again. “I’m sorry,” Angelique began. “I don’t even know your mother. How could I comment on anything about her?” I looked deeply into the older woman’s eyes. Why did I feel as though she knew something I didn’t? “That’s true,” I countered. “But you were getting ready to comment anyway. Maybe from your own experiences, you've learned something that could be of benefit to me.” I leaned towards her. Angelique had intrigued me. She was not the way I imagined any homeless, bag lady to be. She seemed confident and even intelligent and competent. What was she doing walking around the city carrying a plastic bag on her back? Angelique looked down at her hands in her lap and then lifted one to take up her glass of tea again. As she sipped, brown eyes explored my own. “You’re a very attractive young lady,” she said a moment later. “I like the way you’ve flipped your hair under. They used to call that style a page-boy when I was a girl.” “Thank you.” “So many young women nowadays don’t seem to care how they look and then others seem to care too much.” “Angelique, are you deliberately avoiding answering my question?” I asked with a sly smile. Angelique crinkled her eyes and laughed. “Yes, I am,” she chuckled good-naturedly. “I have learned to keep my nose out of business that doesn’t concern me. I’m much happier that way.” For some reason I wanted to hear what Angelique had started to say about my mother. She looked as though she could be about the same age—early sixties or so—maybe she had some insight that would help me understand my mother’s preoccupation with her own life. I pressed. “So, you believe it is possible that my mother doesn’t want to be accessible?” “Dear, anything is possible, but yes, maybe your poor mother just wants to live her own life for a while.” Angelique’s expression changed with her reply and I noticed hardness in her voice that hadn’t been there before. I was aware of my eyebrows rising. “Did I detect a small amount of anger when you said that?” I enquired. There was something about not really knowing the person who I was sitting across from that was liberating. I almost felt as though I could be completely open with her because there was no relational baggage—no prior attachment between us. Angelique pursed her lips and looked back at me for a moment. “It’s almost time for our food to arrive. Wouldn’t you rather have a nice conversation that doesn't involve personal matters?” she asked. Her voice had become soft again and her tone had returned back to the well-modulated, polite tone she had spoken in earlier. I realized that “nice conversation” was exactly what I didn’t want—not that I wanted to argue. I had begun to enjoy her company and the repartee. But it was intriguing to think this lady my mother's age might have some insight she could share. However, maybe this was not what she wanted. After all, it was her birthday, I thought. “Why? Would you rather keep it light?” I asked. “It’s your special day after all,” I added. Angelique studied me for a moment. Her eyes were no longer crinkled good- naturedly like my Aunt Deidra’s and she looked older somehow and not as happy. “Yes, it is my birthday,” she began, “but I’m perfectly satisfied to continue our conversation in the direction it has been going as long as you are aware that my opinion is only my opinion and may not have anything to do with how your mother is thinking and feeling.” “Now you sound like one of those disclaimers on television commercials,” I laughed. Angelique seemed startled momentarily. “Yes, I suppose I must have,” she said finally with a small chuckle of her own. “Well, of course, you are a stranger to me,” I replied making certain to speak with a careful sort of kindness, “and I know you don’t really know my mother. I just thought you might have some insight,” I added. “You seem to be about the same age.” Angelique nodded. Just then, the waitress brought our food to the table. I had also ordered the salmon croquettes and as the warm plates came into view I was pleased to see the golden crumbed orbs of salmon resting decorously on spinach leaves next to a colorful cranberry salad dotted with cubed apples. Angelique looked happily at her plate before unwrapping her silverware and placing her napkin in her lap. For a while, we busied ourselves with taking the first few bites of our meal. The croquettes were delicious. “I see why you recommended this,” I offered. Angelique nodded happily as she took another bite. “This is the best cranberry salad I’ve ever had,” I added. “Yes, it is for me too,” Angelique agreed. She took a drink of her tea. “How old is your mother, Leslie?” “She just turned sixty.” “And if you don’t mind me asking, how long has it been since your father died?” I shifted in my seat. “Three years.” “You’re probably not the only one your mother is tuning out right now,” Angelique stated. “I know,” I started, “but…it’s not just getting over losing Dad that’s causing her to back away from me. She has time for her friends and time to go out and do the things she wants.” I paused while I thought about the rest of my family. “She just doesn’t seem to want to spend any of her free time with me or Gloria or Adrian either. None of us understands it.” “Is that your brother and sister?” Angelique asked. “Yes,” I nodded while dabbing at my mouth with the cloth napkin. “They’re married and they each have two children and Mom has almost backed completely out of everybody’s lives. We’re all mystified,” I confided. I shook my head and then took another bite of my croquette. Mom used to make salmon patties but they hadn’t tasted anything like this. Everything considered though, I would still rather be sitting across from Mom and eating one of her patties anytime, I realized. I felt my eyes become wet. Was I actually starting to cry? Here I am—sitting in a restaurant with a complete stranger, eating salmon croquettes and telling her personal things about my life and to top it all off—I’m getting teary-eyed, I thought. Maybe I’m the one who should be carting my stuff around in a plastic bag. Angelique wiped her mouth with her napkin and tilted her head inquisitively. “Did your mom used to baby-sit for your nieces and nephews?” “Yes,” I replied. “All the time—she was always there for us and now…well, it’s just like she doesn’t care anymore.” I looked up at Angelique. Her eyes were glistening. Was she getting ready to cry too? “Leslie,” she started, “I almost never tell anyone how I ended up on the streets but I’m going to tell you and I want you to take it for what you will.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe it will help you; maybe it will mean nothing to you.” “I’m sure it will mean something to me, Angelique,” I replied. Angelique wiped her hands on her napkin and then leaned towards me. I was transfixed by the seriousness of her expression. “I have three children…,” she said wearily. “…Three children that I never taught to do anything. I made their beds, washed their dishes, cooked for them and took them wherever they needed to go.” She shook her head sadly. “My husband was a biology professor and eventually I found out….” Angelique narrowed her eyes and paused for a second as if choosing her words carefully. “…That he had been conducting experiments with some of his young female students that had nothing to do with his biology classes.” “Oh, no!” “Oh, yes,” she countered wryly. “I also found out later that he had been planning to leave me for a long time and when he did I discovered things about our money situation I would not have dreamed.” Angelique shook her head in dismay as she stared down at her plate. “And I never saw it coming.” “What didn’t you see coming?” I asked with interest. “I found out the house we were living in was mortgaged to the hilt. He must have been spending a lot of money on all his young honeys over the past few years,” she added bitterly. “When he left I couldn’t continue making the payments by myself and I lost our house. I only had one child, Jacob, left at home and he was getting ready to go to college so I sold the furniture and made sure he got settled in to his new life and I went to live with my daughter.” “I’m so sorry, Angelique. That must have been terrible.” “Of course it was terrible. I had lost my husband and my home and was reduced to living with my daughter who was determined to create a huge mess out of her life.” Angelique looked up at me as though gauging my reaction. She studied me a moment longer before going on. “April, my daughter, wanted me to baby-sit. I enjoyed my granddaughter, Carey, in fact she was the one bright light still in my life, but I found out that I was expected to more or less raise Carey while April went to work. I know…,” she hesitated before continuing. "…That lots of grandmothers enjoy babysitting for their grandchildren but I wasn’t ready to become someone else’s cook and bottle-washer again—not even for Carey though I loved her with all of my heart.” “How long has it been since you’ve seen Carey?” I asked. “About four months.” “Oh…you haven’t been gone long have you?” “No, although sometimes it seems like an eternity,” she replied with a distant look in her eyes. Angelique sat silent for a moment. I could tell this was painful for her and I sat quietly waiting for her to finish. I thought it might be good for her to talk it all out. After a pause of only a few seconds she began again. “The bill collectors found out where I was living and came after me. It seems that I was considered just as responsible for the bills as Mason even though I had nothing to do with the disappearance of all our money or the mortgages on the house.” Angelique held out her hands open palms up in a gesture that signified the helplessness she felt in her situation. She continued, “I had just signed business papers when he told me to. He had always managed those things in the past.” “Yes, I’ve heard of that happening to women,” I offered sympathetically.” She leaned towards me conspiratorially, “You make sure you know what’s going on with your money in your marriage.” “I’m not married, but if I ever am, I will,” I replied determinedly. “Good.” “So, you were babysitting and living with April. What happened then?” I asked. “April was going out on her husband, Trent. It took me a while to pick up on it but I began to see that my babysitting was turning into more than a full time job. I saw Carey more than her mother did!” Angelique stirred uncomfortably in her chair. I could tell that the memory was upsetting her. “It’s okay, Angelique. You don’t have to talk about it anymore." “No. I want to tell you now,” she answered with determination in her voice. “It was awful. April was making all kinds of excuses, a girlfriend in the hospital, overtime at work—anything she could think of to stay away from home. I felt like a prisoner there and the bill collectors were threatening to sue me. Dave and Jess, my two grown sons both live about two hours away. They never called or seemed to want me in their life. They never even tried to help. Sometimes, they even gave me the impression that they sympathized with their dad. That about destroyed me.” I shook my head. She had taken care of people all her life but when she needed them, no one was there for her. Angelique continued. "And I just felt as though my life was not my own. Everyone had their demands of me!” she exclaimed. “I kept thinking about how to get out and I could only think of one way. So, one day when I finally decided I had had enough, I did it. I waited until April was home and left a note lying on my pillow in my room for her to read. I had already given little Carey a long hug and kiss earlier." Tears had come into Angelique’s eyes and she patted at her cheeks and waved her hands in front of her face for a moment as though she were trying to control herself. Finally, she took a deep breath and continued. "I took a suitcase and walked out of the door while April was in the kitchen with Carey.” She took another sip of her tea. “I rode a bus until I got to the city. I didn't have much money so I've guarded it carefully and kept it hid on my person while I’ve went from one shelter to another. I don’t give my real name,” she added with a sad little flourish. “Nobody knows where I’m at and until I figure out what to do next, I don’t want anyone to know…especially April.” Everything was beginning to become clear to me—why Angelique had left, why she had stated that my mother might not want to be accessible, and also the breaking she had gone through—the catalyst that had finally led her to this life she was living. Had my mother felt something like that after Dad died? She never discussed their financial affairs with me but was she okay? I wondered. Suddenly, I felt selfish—involved in my own life, my own grief over Dad and I realized I had asked my mother to shoulder a lot for me the past few years without considering the fact that she was not just my mom but a person with her own identity and needs….and life. We were done with our meals and our waitress came and refilled our glasses again. "Are you saying you think Mom might just be wanting to live her own life?" Angelique's eyes regarded me sympathetically and her tone was filled with kindness as she answered gently. "Maybe she's just trying to find her own identity apart from everyone else. Sometimes that's the hardest thing of all." Angelique and I grew silent and remained that way for a while as the waitress cleared our plates from the table. I contemplated the things Angelique had told me. "Why the hat?" I asked her suddenly as I realized I had been talking to a woman who did not fit the part she portrayed. "It helps to identify me as someone who lives on the streets," she replied. "I only wear it so people will leave me alone because when people think that you're a street person... they do," she added. "People have a way of looking through you when you live on the streets. They see what they want to see and they don't want to see me." I nodded—ashamed that I hadn't wanted to see her either. "But you looked at me," Angelique said with a grateful smile that shamed me even more. "When you got off of the train....you looked right into my eyes and smiled." "And you reminded me of someone," I told her. "Your Aunt Deidra," she supplied quickly. 'Yes, I owe this wonderful lunchtime with you to my Aunt Deidra and to Ryan Macon, who will be meeting here with me soon," I said with a laugh as I checked my watch. The waitress came over to our table and placed a check before each of us. I reached across the table before Angelique could pick hers up and took it. "I'd like to pay for your lunch today as a birthday present," I told her. "Leslie, just having you here to talk to was present enough," she replied kindly. "It was my pleasure," I told her honestly. Sitting here with this warm human being who had seen so much upheaval happen in her life lately, had caused me to examine my heart. I realized how uncompassionate I had become. Angelique had been nothing but a bother to me at first—someone I wanted to ignore. I had put her under my mind's heading that said "homeless people". Yet she was an individual—an individual who knew what it was to be lied to and abused and finally ignored. I looked at Angelique who was rummaging in the plastic bag. She had unashamedly drug it out from underneath the table and placed it beside her in the booth. Her hat was on her head again and I was amazed at how it did seem to transform her back into her street person persona. I understood why she wore it now. It was part of her identity and I had learned from her that an identity she chose was better than one given. "Are you safe?" I asked as I placed my credit card into the pocket of the card holder. This lunch would have to be on me—no expense account. I couldn't charge my company for feeding the homeless. Angelique looked up. "Yes, I have been safe," she replied thoughtfully. "I have also been very careful." "What do you have to do to be careful?" "If my time is running out at one of the shelters, I make sure to get a bed in another one. A couple of times I wasn't able to get a night in one of the shelters so I spent the night in the cheapest place I could find. I've come to treasure those times. It means that for a few hours I have a home of my own again," "But what about the others on the streets," I asked. "Aren't you afraid of them?" Angelique started to say something but the appearance of the waitress caused her to stop. "Was everything alright?" the young woman asked. "Yes, it was delicious. Thank you," I replied as Angelique concurred with a smile and a nod. We watched as the waitress walked away. "You asked if I was afraid of the other street people," she began. "Yes, I am afraid of some of them but most of them are like me. They want to have someone to talk to and someplace to go where they are needed." I thought for a moment mulling over her words. "But Angelique, don't you think your daughter needs you?" "No, she doesn't need me," Angelique replied sadly. "She needs somebody—anybody who will take care of her daughter and help her hide her secrets from her husband." "I see," I replied thoughtfully. "Yes," the older woman said after a long sigh, "She didn't need me at all. Almost any baby-sitter and housekeeper could please April and fill the spot I left." "But don't you feel responsible—even for your grandchild?" I blurted out. Angelique studied me for a long moment. The expression on her face seemed to drop slowly as the awareness of what I was saying sunk in. I felt uncomfortable with her stare and shifted in my seat. "Responsible?" she repeated with a question in her voice. "I was responsible for her mother and look how she turned out. I think I've been too responsible." I looked down at my hands and sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be insensitive." I took another sip of my tea before daring to meet her eyes again but when I did, I found understanding there. I thought again of my own mother and wondered if she felt she had been too responsible for us. "You make me question myself," I told her. "And maybe it's a good thing. Maybe I have been a little spoiled." Angelique's smile was tinged with sadness. "I have learned a lot about being out here on my own that I don't think most people know." "You mean the people not living on the streets?" I asked. She nodded and her face became grim as her eyes lost their kindness and became cold and distant. I leaned forward in anticipation of what she was going to say next. "You don't need near as much as you think you do." I tried to understand what she meant. "Are you saying you don't need possessions or people or even family?" "Yes, but that's only part of it," she answered. "There's so much more. I don't need to know that my daughter and sons are okay with the life I've chosen. I don't need to know what my ex-husband is doing and I don't even need him. I don't need to answer to anyone and I don't need to be responsible for everyone around me. I can figure this life out all by myself and it's my time to do that." The warmth had come back into her eyes and she smiled at me. "But even after coming to know all that about myself, I found out there is something I do need—a friend." She nodded. "You don't need all the things you think you do but everybody needs a friend." I could not argue with what she had said nor did I want to. The waitress returned with a receipt for me to sign. I signed and returned her pen. She thanked me and left. I turned my attention back to Angelique. She was watching me. "Thank you for the lunch, Leslie. I enjoyed meeting you." "And thank you, Angelique," I responded but for a reason I did not take the time to analyze, I decided to tell her the truth. "I have something to confess to you about me and our lunch." She looked puzzled. "What?" "I am like everybody else you spoke about earlier." I offered. "You know—the ones who ignore the homeless?" Angelique arched her eyebrows in surprise. "Why do you say that?" "I wanted to ignore you too. I almost kept walking when you spoke to me." "But you came in Branson's after all," she stated. "And you asked to join me." I sighed. "I passed it by at first because of you but it started to rain very hard. I would not be here right now if not for the storm." Angelique looked at me for a second before dropping her gaze. I could tell my revelation had hurt her and that wasn't what I meant to do. . "You didn't want to have lunch with me, did you?" she asked. "Not at first but now I am so glad I did." I searched for the words to convey my feelings correctly. "It took seeing you as an individual to cause me to be ashamed of my behavior. I realize now that it's very easy to lump everybody together to fit a stereotype." She was nodding her head in agreement as she listened. I continued. "It makes it convenient to say that homeless people are dangerous or crazy or out to take advantage of others. Then, it's easy to ignore them." I could feel my eyes becoming moist and I reached across the table and touched her hand. "But you are not like that. You are the one who has been taken advantage of. You are the one who has been hurt." I squeezed her hand once before letting it go. The older lady seemed to be thinking about what I said. I hoped I hadn't hurt her feelings. Angelique nodded and smiled in a grim little way that was sad and sweet at the same time. Suddenly, she broke her silence. "It's not really my birthday." At first I didn't realize why she was bringing up her birthday. It seemed like a random change of subject and it took a second for me to realize she was telling me she had lied to me. I had been conned. "You wanted me to buy your lunch?" I asked a little sharply. "Yes," she said. It was apparent she was ashamed by the look on her face. Her statement irritated me. I felt as though I had been taken advantage of a little but the humble way she was regarding me right then and the fact she had told me the truth while knowing I might become angry at her caused my irritation to evaporate very quickly as I listened to her explanation. "One of the things that I don't like about myself is that I have resorted to taking advantage of others when the opportunity arises," she said softly. "Then I tell myself that I deserve to be out here on the streets. I've thought a lot about it and I believe it works like a circle." "You mean it's self-perpetuating?" I asked. She was opening up to me about something I had never thought of before and I couldn't help but be fascinated. "Well...," she paused for a moment while clasping her hands in front of her on the table. I wished she would take the hat off again. That large magnolia on the front of it was distracting and almost comical. "I have seen it in others too," she continued after a long pause. "It's like a downward spiral. Some start out with small cons, like what I did to you. Some tell stories about a relative being in the hospital that they need to get to but can't afford the fare." She lowered her voice as though afraid of revealing a secret out in the open. "Like one man I know who tells people his granddaughter got hit by a truck and is in the emergency room. I saw a man give him twenty dollars because of that story one time. You can stay drunk for a long time on twenty dollars." She shook her head. "Some beg for money saying it is for their children and then they go and buy drugs. Some sell themselves and then there are those who you can tell have been on the street a very long time. Everything is a con to them—even the air that they breath.” She paused and her face looked extremely sad. "I learned how we get that way too," she confided a moment later. "It happens in stages. There are the firsts—the first time you pick up something a stranger has left on a plate only half-eaten and you cram it into your own mouth because you're starving—the first time you take something from a store without paying for it—the first time you ask someone for money." Angelique shook her head negatively. "You begin to believe you're not worth anything or even worse—that no one is worth anything and you go deeper and deeper into life on the street—every compromise of your character convincing you that you don't deserve anything else—anything better than what you are able to scrounge up—like an animal." "You deserve much more than that, Angelique," I said firmly. What she said had moved me to the point of wanting to help. I could not imagine what she had gone through. She only stared down at her hands again. "I don't know how to go back to my life anymore," she stated sadly. "I'm not sure which way to turn. Maybe I could just start by paying you back for the meal." I looked into her eyes and I felt a stirring of an idea but I needed time to think about it. It made my stomach flutter and I played with my straw nervously as I considered the thought. "No. Please," I urged. "Let's just say that we both had something to confess and we both had something to forgive." She looked down at her hands clasped in front of her on the table and began to twiddle her thumbs the way my mother did when she was upset. Just then my phone rang. I looked at the screen. "Excuse me. It's my boss." I pressed the talk button on my cell. "Ryan?" "Where are you at, Leslie?" the enthusiasm in his voice already apparent. "I've got some pretty exciting news and several things I need to talk over with you." "I'm at Branson's, just down the street from where Jenkin's used to be," I answered. "I"ll be there in a few minutes. Thanks for waiting," he replied quickly before hanging up. I put my phone away and looked back at Angelique in time to see her reaching inside of her bag. She took something out of a little box. "Here," she said. "I want you to have this." She opened up her hand and there on her palm was a brooch in the shape of a small, golden butterfly with red jewel eyes. I hesitated for a moment and smiled as I recognized that being able to give someone a gift was probably a luxury for her and not something she got to do often. Still, I said: "It's beautiful but you don't have to give me anything, Angelique." "I know," she answered. I noticed the dry skin on her hands as she placed the brooch in mine. I couldn't help but think of all the bottles and tubes of lotion crowded together on the top of my bedside table dresser. I wished I had tucked one of them into my purse and could give it to her now. "It's just a thank you for the company and the meal," Angelique continued as she peeked at me from beneath her hat. "I’m still ashamed that I told you it was my birthday." "I understand," I said although, after hearing her story, I knew I really had no idea. Her face held a defeated look. "I feel like every time I take something I shouldn't from someone, I leave a little piece of myself behind." She reached up and wiped at a tear. "I cut corners on my integrity. I only had to be on the streets a little while before I started doing that too. I'm not better than anyone else out here. That's another thing I've learned." She looked past me. "They've just been out there giving little pieces of themselves away longer than I have." I nodded sadly. For a moment I was at a loss for words. Finally I raised my eyes to meet hers and spoke. "It's interesting to me that because of you I have identified some of the ways I cut corners too." I looked at the butterfly in my hand. "I will use this lovely butterfly as a symbol to remind me to see all people as valuable. Every time I look at it, I will remember you." Angelique pursed her lips and nodded. I could tell by the look on her face she was touched. "You're probably right about Mom too," I added with regret. "This is her way of handling her grief and I guess she needs to cope with things her way." "She'll come around," Angelique said with a smile. "Of course she will," I agreed. I thought of my mother and how my siblings and I had taken her for granted for so many years. She probably just wanted to have her own life and make her own identity. I suspected she never had that before. "Where are you going tonight, Angelique?" "To the Christian shelter a couple of blocks over. I have to be there before six o'clock or they'll give my bed away." I couldn't imagine what it would be like if I had no where to go because someone gave my bed away and I looked down at my hands. I was the one twiddling my thumbs now. "You know when you said that sometimes you have to stay in a motel room?" The expression on her face darkened. "I've about come to the end of those times." I knew she must mean she had come near to the end of her money. No wonder she had told me it was her birthday. She was torn between wanting to have a nice meal and dipping further into her depleted savings. "This was one of the last nice things I was going to be able to do for myself," she said. "I knew it was getting ready to rain too. I had heard the thunder and you had just got off of the train. When I heard what you said on the phone, I knew I had to take advantage. I had one little piece of information I could give you…," a sob escaped her throat and she reached up to cover her mouth for a moment as she closed her eyes. "…One little thing I could give that maybe I could get something back for." I began to shuffle through some things in my purse—things that seemed important a few hours ago but seemed less so now. "Please, I don't want to take any…," she began. "Here's my card," I interrupted as I held it out to her. "Actually, I don't have any money with me." I smiled. "I haven't carried anything but credit cards and a little change for years. But this card has my phone number on it and I'd like for you to promise me something." She lifted her chin and I could see the wary look in her eyes as though she feared I might be getting ready to make a request she could not agree to. "Please, take it," I urged. She reached out one dry, rough hand. "What's the promise?" I leaned towards her. "Call me. When you get to one of those times you don't have anywhere to go, please call me. You can come and spend the night with me in my apartment. We could talk again. Maybe we could figure out something together." She continued to look down at the card she was holding as a tear inched down her face. I waited to see what she would say but she just kept looking at it. "You would let me spend the night with you?" "Yes," I told her. "Let me be the barrier between you and the streets. Will you promise me that?" She only paused a few more seconds before answering. "I can't promise you anything, Leslie, except that I will think about it." I studied the kind face that had become familiar to me. "That's good enough," I told her. She reached for her sack. Upon seeing it closer, I could tell it was of a stronger plastic than I thought. She rummaged around in it for a while. I even thought she might be writing something once. Maybe she was writing down a telephone number for me. Maybe she still had a cell phone. She must have just been putting the card up for safe keeping in a billfold or change purse, I decided because when she finally straightened up to look at me, she gave me no phone number in return. I even felt a smidgen of relief. "It was nice meeting you, Leslie," she said. Then she began to scoot out of the booth's seat but she moved in an awkward manner because of the sack. Finally, she got to the edge and stood. I stood with her. "It was nice meeting you too, Angelique," I offered sincerely. Angelique tilted her head as though trying to make a decision about something. "Maxine," she told me finally. "My name is Maxine." I smiled. "Maxine," I repeated. She turned to walk out and as I watched her waddle away, I was aware of a small feeling of sadness. I sat back down and waited for Ryan to arrive. I considered what it must be like to essentially be in hiding from bill collectors who were trying to get money from you and a family that only wanted to use you. The little butterfly pin seemed to stare back at me with its jeweled eyes. "Can I get you anything else, 'Ma'am?" the waitress asked and I looked up. "No, thanks," I told her. "But I'm going to be here a little while longer. I'm waiting for someone." "That's fine," she said with a nod and just as she turned to walk away, Ryan appeared. I could see he had things he wanted to talk about because the expression on his face was one of happy excitement and for the first time, I thought I could imagine what the confident executive might have looked like as a little boy. "I have a lot to…," he began. "What's this card doing here?" he asked as he bent down to pick something up out of the seat across from me. "This is your business card." He held it up and then turned it over. "Thanks for being a friend when I needed one," he read out loud. "What does that mean? Did you put this here?" he asked with a puzzled expression on his face. I reached for the card and he handed it to me. It saddened me to see the writing. She wouldn't even take my card. I guess this meant I'd probably never see her again and I'd always wonder what happened to the gypsy-like older woman who had captivated me one rainy afternoon. "I had lunch with someone and gave them this card," I explained sadly. "Did you write that on it?" "No, they knew someone was joining me so I guess they just expected you to find the note and give it to me." Just then I saw Ryan's expression change to one of curious amusement. "Can I help you?" he asked as I turned to see who he was speaking to. I looked up. She had come back. "Angelique! I mean...," I started to say, "Maxine", but caught myself. Knowing her real name was a gift I did not think she wanted me to share. "...I...I was just looking at the note on the back of the card." Her eyes met mine for a long second before she finally spoke. I could see Ryan out of the corner of my eye and knew he was staring. "I came back for the card," she said in almost a whisper. I smiled with relief as I handed it to her. "Good," I told her. "A real friend is more than just a friend for a day." She clasped the card to her chest and looked as though she might say something but seemed to think better of it because she just nodded and returned my smile and then she bustled away. Ryan was still staring at me. His amused expression had turned to one of disbelief. "You had lunch with that…that person?" he asked. "Yes," I answered. I knew he could hear the warning in my tone. He paused and changed direction. "Well, I've got a lot to tell you about the possibility of a very new acquisition!" he exclaimed.

Suddenly, everything else that had just happened was obviously no longer of any consequence to him. I listened, glad for my colleague and the business he had generated for our company. And as he spoke, I realized I cared substantially less about what he was speaking about than I would have two hours ago—two hours before meeting Angelique Whitherspoon and I wondered what other differences she would make in my life if she did call me. I did not make the mistake this time of assuming it would only be about me helping her. Though there were no assurances she would ever contact me again, I had faith she would. After all, she came back for the card. And I believe she came back because we saw a friend in one another and like Angelique said: "You don't need a lot of the things you think you do but everybody needs a friend." The EndRegina Russell Copyright 2013﻿﻿Find my books on this website or at this link on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Regina-Stokes-Russell/e/B0091HGM00/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1﻿

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